Ookami no Kiba
by Blue Jeans
Summary: The story of a girl becoming a woman, and her destined path in becoming the deadly fang of the wolf. [On-hold; major re-editing]
1. The Cub in the Den

* Tokio and Hajime are products of history and Himura Kenshin is the product of   
Nobuhiro Watsuki -- though I am choosing to use Watsuki-san's Saitou Hajime/Fujita   
Gorou cause... have you SEEN the real dude *shudders*. I'm just adding my own twisted   
mind into the messed up mix. Hmm, I think this is the perfect time for an "Oro?"   
Ohohohohohohoho! ^_^v Well, enjoy!  
  
* "I am the steel beneath the bloom," turning to him arrogantly, I faced him without  
hesitation or fear. "Did you forget that...?"  
Saitou Tokio was born into a world of prestige. Daughter of a wealthy daimyo,   
and the descendant of an honorable family. In a time of shifting allegiances and   
oncoming civil war, Tokio, living on the out-skirts of Kyoto will be embroiled in a   
family conflict that will reflect the unrest of her beloved country. And with it, a   
remarkable journey of a woman fighting to redeem justice and loyalty, even if it means  
to discover a truth that might destroy everything that she had ever known and loved,  
will begin. With it she will face the very test that will forge her into the woman   
that will one day tame the Mibu no Ookami.  
  
  
* Jihi - lady in waiting  
* Sensei - teacher(s)  
* Haha - One's own mother  
* Chichiue - One's own father (formal/polite way of Chichi)  
* Ojiisama - Grandfather (extremely formal)  
* Ookami - Wolf  
* -nii - Older brother (informal/nickname)  
* Edo - Tokyo's old name  
* Kami - god(s)  
* Samurai - elite class of warriors  
* Daimyo - equivalent to lords, they own land and are served by loyal samurai. They   
are also responsible for the peasants in the region/area that they "rule" over for the   
shogun  
* Katana - a great sword (same as a daito), mounted edge up  
  
  
Ookami no Kiba  
  
.blue.  
.blueweber@hotmail.com.  
  
  
The Cub in the Den  
  
For longer than I can remember,  
I was yours.  
  
--Takagi Tokio  
( Her Personal Journals )  
  
It could be said that our match was meant from the very beginning. Haha would   
tell me that the moment she saw Chichiue bringing him in from the mud and rain, she   
knew he was god-touched. Wild hair and wilder eyes, Haha had a hard time trying to   
clean him up and for four days he wouldn't let anybody touch him. In fact, he would   
only gobble down the food that they provided for him before scurrying back into the   
shadows of his small room, hiding from the world. The only reason Chichiue was able to   
bring him home at all was because Chichiue had subdued him, if not a bit roughly, and   
for a year he lived with Haha, Chichiue, and older brother before I was born.  
  
In my mind, he had always been a part of the family. Never once did I question   
where he had come from or why his eyes of amber wildness was not something anyone else   
in the family have had the pleasure of possessing. And he? He had always kept himself   
away from me and in so doing, heightened my interests, especially after my brother had   
once so rudely denounced him in my presence as nothing more than a discarded jacket that   
my father had picked up on his way home. It was then that I started to have an inkling   
that he was not really related to me by blood.  
  
I never knew that on those long summer days, when the heat bared down onto the   
grounds of our estate -- established on the outskirts of Kyoto -- that he would watch   
me with mild interest through hooded eyes of veiled thoughts. But I had, on occasion,   
sneaked a few peeks at him when I would per-chance ran away from the chastising   
presence of Reika, my jihi, and the rest of my grouchy sensei. I was the daughter of a   
daimyo -- once the samurai of the shogunate forces -- and Chichiue wanted me to reflect   
that prestige through studying the works of our ancestors -- especially the Confucian   
philosophies -- as well as the books of the old eras passed. It was not at all to my   
pleasure when it came to reading such old books, or the calligraphy lessons that at   
first blackened my fingers with ink and would hang its weary scent around me throughout   
the rest of the day. Haha had, of course, objected to such teachings of literature and   
insisted instead that I learn my numbers. She was the daughter of a farmer, and to her   
such trivial facts of words meant little without the backing of some numbers, and of   
course, hard work. After all, she was the wife of a samurai turned daimyo and knew   
well that, as all samurai, her husband had a distaste for business. So to make sure   
that if I were ever "stuck" with such a husband, my finances would be in good hands,   
mainly mine since for sure my husband would never want anything to do with it!  
  
Thank the kami that Wakashi Etsuyo was my father's loyal retainer! An old man   
who was the servant of my Ojiisama before even Chichiue was born, Etsuyo was a   
brilliant man of numbers and exceptionally shrewd. Without him, Haha declared, our   
house would have long ago been into debts too high to repay before father had had the   
fortune of taking her as his wife! Haha knew this with a certainty considering how   
Chichiue would spend his money so carelessly and without knowing the costs, or even  
allow the duties of the servants to slip by unsupervised. She always claimed that   
such a man would grow careless in the art of living and everyday business. He was   
an honorable samurai from a long line of samurai elites, so why would he dirty his   
hands in the world of money? Such earthly business could not touch him, and though   
Haha surely doted Chichiue as much as any loving wife would, such arrogant distain   
had thrown her into bouts of frustrated mutterings, as I had come to witness. Those   
were the times when she would attack the weeds of our garden with a vengeance and an   
unmercifulness that would put Chichiue's passions for the family sword to shame!  
  
From what I hear, my Haha's headstrong stubbornness had, at first, turned   
Chichiue away in his youth. But the Saitou family insisted on the match and Ojiisama   
was as uncompromising as ever to Chichiue's objections. Family honor first, Etsuyo   
would tell me in a wasteful voice when he spoke of the past.  
  
Anyway, Ojiisama had seen immediately how well matched the two would be. As   
Etsuyo always pointed out with a chuckle, Haha was the unusual product from the family   
she grew up within. With a solid understanding of numbers in her head, since the   
town's tax collector was a friend of the family's, she had ended up taking care of the   
family's finances at a young age when her own mother had died while giving birth to her   
youngest brother. Haha kept the family income afloat as she quickly taught herself the   
lessons of dealing with the troublesome yen as well as the outside world of marketing   
and trading. Outwardly, she had learned to keep the meek face of a well-bred woman,   
especially before her father's guests, but her shrewdness had been what made my   
grandfather's farm one of the most prominent in Edo.  
  
My father's father had long been a childhood friend of my mother's father. When   
the two old men had met and the head of the Saitou household finally got a chance to   
lay his eyes on the Takagi family's eldest daughter, his decision was made in an   
instant. My Samurai grandfather had turned to his old friend and inquired if the other   
would like to strike a deal of marriage between their two families concerning the   
eldest of both clans. With little protests and many joyous wishes, Chichiue met Haha   
for the first time a week before their wedding day and flatly refused the match when   
she had given him a tongue-lashing he was sure to never forget!  
  
Haha saw Chichiue in all his fine arrogance and his distaste for practicality,   
liking more to swim in ponderous thoughts of a philosophical nature -- when he wasn't   
wielding the hard iron of his sword -- then to deal with the realities of life beyond   
the katana. Apparently, Haha had taken one long look at him, listened patiently to him   
speak for an hour, and when their time was up she promptly told both of my grandfathers   
that if she were to marry such a man he would run both of them broke before their one   
month of marriage was up! That was not a very flattering comment, especially since she   
said it so boldly in front of my Chichiue. Even more to his discomfort, the harsh   
criticism was coming from the mouth of a farmer's daughter -- a lower class than the   
samurai -- and especially since she was a woman, which added to the insult. My   
Chichiue had, apparently bristled once at her attack, bowed politely and left. That   
night, years before I was conceived, he had argued till dawn with his father on such an   
absurd match! But of course, Haha and Chichiue made it to the temple and by some act   
of kami, made it home in one piece without killing each other, and their life as   
husband and wife began. They had their first son a year after marriage and a strange   
routine settled between them as well as a stranger fondness that reluctantly grew.  
  
Chichiue learned to withstand Haha's harsh critiques and listen carefully to her   
wise observations, while she in turn learned to tolerate his arrogance and even come to   
love the many strength of character he did possess. Thus, did my childhood go, fraught   
between these two opposing worlds of heart and mind, loving and yet always in conflict.   
So, I ended up spending half of my days in the gardens, digging and planting while   
mother repeatedly quizzed me on the sums and differences; while the other half was   
spent in a small room with wafts of sunlight and the shadows of the candle's fire while   
I read first out loud and then in gentle murmurs as I copied down the words with   
growing hands and growing grace.  
  
When I could break free of the chains that bounded me to study and labour under   
the sun, I would watch with rapt fascination as Chichiue taught both my brothers -- one   
by blood and the other only by name -- the art of the sword. I could only stare with   
growing envy at such freedom and the accomplishments brought on by the power and skill   
of the steel that my Chichiue wielded before I was caught and punished for my   
impertinence. But never did I dare speak of my own desires to learn such arts of war   
that were meant only for men. Such thoughts were forbidden to a girl like myself, and   
so I kept my secret passion and watched my brothers learn the extension of themselves   
in the gleaming blade beneath the sun, watched and envied with all of my heart till I  
was given a similar path when I had grown to the age of six.  
  
I had always known that he was the better swordsman, his talents far surpassing   
my eldest brother's. My curiosity became somewhat more so as I watch him dance that   
dance of death and life and honor, fascinated all the more by what I saw. He never   
told me the name of his ancestors and I never asked, having not known he was any more   
different from me at the time. For to me, he was my Ookami-nii, a playful nickname   
that Haha dubbed him when he had once tried to bite her hand off in those first few   
weeks at our home. "A lone hunter, that one," Ryou, my eldest brother would mutter to   
me to scare me away. Saitou Ryou never liked him, but Chichiue wanted him to stay and   
gave him a name, Hajime. But I never used that name either because to me he was   
Ookami-nii, the lone wolf of our pack. And from the first day I learned to recognize   
him as I do the beating of my heart -- when my thoughts were still unfocused and was,   
but a novelty -- to the last day I will breath this earthly air, my spirit will always   
be with him. Forever following that harsh and lonely trail he sought.  
  
  
to be continued...  
  
.blue.  
.blueweber@hotmail.com.  
  
* The name Ookami no Kiba means Fang of the Wolf or Wolf's Fang  
* This is my first Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic. Thank you for reading ^-^v  
* For Mara who pointed out my blatant mix up with Hajime's name  
*big sweatdrop* I actually wrote the story as Saitou Hajime, but in  
my research, one of the sites did it the English way and totally mixed  
me up -_-;; It sounded wrong anyway *sigh* maybe next time I should  
trust my instincts ^_^;; But arigato for clearing that up for me! I  
was feeling uncomfortable referring to Hajime as Saitou anyway ^_^v  
* This story is a drama, not WAFF-alicious. Just don't want to surprise  
anyone half-way through the tale ^_^;;  
* Oh, and thanks for pointing out my errors! I finally got my butt into  
gear and ran this through spell-check ^_^;; I'm so embarrassed. I made  
so many errors... MOU! *Kicks her brain* You're suppose to function  
correctly. -_-;;  
* Okay, to clear up maybe mild confusion about daito at the beginning of  
the translations. Daito is a long sword, a part of a set of two swords   
-- the daito and the shoto -- known as the daisho. You may know shoto   
as what many authors call the "wazikashi" and you may know daito as what   
many authors opt to call the "katana". Now, when you put these swords   
together, they make a set, called the daisho. Only those who were samurai   
could legally wear daisho in public during the Tokugawa period. It became   
a symbol of class and prestige, not just of skill.  
  
.blue.  
.blueweber@hotmail.com. 


	2. A Daimyo's Daughter

* Tokio and Hajime are products of history and Himura Kenshin is the product of   
Nobuhiro Watsuki -- though I am choosing to use Watsuki-san's Saitou Hajime/Fujita   
Gorou cause... have you SEEN the real dude *shudders*. I'm just adding my own twisted   
mind into the messed up mix. Hmm, I think this is the perfect time for an "Oro?"   
Ohohohohohohoho! ^_^v Well, enjoy!  
  
* "I am the steel beneath the bloom," turning to him arrogantly, I faced him without  
hesitation or fear. "Did you forget that...?"  
Saitou Tokio was born into a world of prestige. Daughter of a wealthy daimyo,   
and the descendant of an honorable family. In a time of shifting allegiances and   
oncoming civil war, Tokio, living on the out-skirts of Kyoto will be embroiled in a   
family conflict that will reflect the unrest of her beloved country. And with it, a   
remarkable journey of a woman fighting to redeem justice and loyalty, even if it means  
to discover a truth that might destroy everything that she had ever known and loved,  
will begin. With it she will face the very test that will forge her into the woman   
that will one day tame the Mibu no Ookami.  
  
  
* Sensei - teacher(s)  
* Haha - One's own mother  
* Chichiue - One's own father (formal/polite way of Chichi)  
* Ojiisama - Grandfather (extremely formal)  
* Ookami - Wolf  
* -nii - Older brother (informal/nickname)  
* Kami - god(s)  
* Samurai - elite class of warriors  
* Daimyo - equivalent to lords, they own land and are served by loyal samurai. They   
are also responsible for the peasants in the region/area that they "rule" over for the   
shogun  
* Katana - a great sword (same as a daito), mounted edge up  
* Chibi - little  
* Onna - woman  
* Tanto - knife-sized, short sword (This same weapon is the one that Tomoe carries with  
her in the OVA)  
* Kunai - Small knife like projectiles that are thrown at targets. (This is Misao's  
weapon of choice in both the manga and the anime)  
* Geta - Sandals that were worn by women  
* Shoji - A sliding door, composed of rice paper and set in a wooden frame.  
  
  
  
A Daimyo's Daughter  
  
In the wake of falling leaves,  
Autumn brings the haunting song  
Of change and death.  
  
-- Takagi Tokio  
( Her Personal Journals )  
  
Early in the morning before dawn had yet arrived, I woke to the sound of steel   
against wood. It is not a sound I am unaccustomed too being that Hajime had a horrible   
habit of getting up before everyone else and practicing out in the wide yard in the   
darkness just before dawn. Fate also was cruel enough to make me a light sleeper and   
so I found myself peeking out of the slit I created as I sat down near my door,   
breathing as softly as I could. Some may say that sometimes I treaded around Hajime as   
if he was a bird more than a wolf, and the servants would laugh and gossip about it.   
True, I always did feel that if I ever approached him without silent precaution he   
would fly away in fear and leap out of my grasps to where I could not follow. The only   
trouble was that I had yet to catch him much less keep him in my small, trembling   
hands.  
  
"Spying on me again," his soft voice mixed with arrogant certainty cut through me   
like the katana that he held in his hand had gone through the thick bark of our ancient   
trees.  
  
I opened my door fully, shivering at the chill of morning air that had yet to   
been warmed by sunlight, and looked at him defiantly. "I would do no such thing," I   
told him with as much dignity as I could summon, lifting my eyes to meet his without   
hesitation. "You're the one who woke me from my quiet slumber with your brutish grunts   
and clumsy movements."  
  
He raised a brow at this, shifting the shadows on his face as the firelight, from   
the paper lanterns, danced upon his features. "If I were so noisy, I would have the   
whole household breathing down my neck, chibi. And it is your loud breathing that has   
disturbed even this brute from his concentrations."  
  
I frowned at him as fiercely as I could muster at having been caught in such an   
undignified act. And then a thought struck me in my need for vengeance. It took just   
a moment for me to decide that we were quite alone before I rose to my feet and walked   
over to him unafraid. "You are having trouble with this swordplay?" I asked when I   
was standing right in front of him. The spark of annoyance flickered in his eyes at my   
words and told me I had been correct in my assumptions. Anyone else might have missed   
it, for Hajime held his face in perfect indifference with a will that could move   
mountains, but he happened to be my favorite subject and I knew him better than I let   
on.  
  
"What would you know, chibi?" He asked and I had a feeling he was taunting me so   
that I would leave him alone.  
  
Not going to work, I thought with delightful mischief and set to prove myself to   
him. "For one thing, Chichiue never holds his katana like that when he executes the move   
you were practicing." I answered and he looked at me startled. Here stood a man, five   
years my senior, listening to a little girl lecturing him on the ways to hold a katana   
when this little girl had held nothing more than a light-weighted tanto, at most, a few   
kunais. The very idea of him indulging me enough to listen to what I had to say was   
absurd! But he silently waited for me to explain, and the rapture of such attention   
made me slightly dizzy.  
  
Scolding myself silently, I realized that I must have gained my Father's   
arrogance and pride along with his philosophical insights. Deciding to humble him and   
myself in the process -- since I have just admitted that I had indeed been spying on   
him earlier -- I stretched out my hand and boldly touched the hand that held his   
katana. I was careful not to touch the worn hilt for I had long ago learned that such   
an act was almost like a violation to any samurai. His sword was a part of him, to   
touch it without his permission was rude and a dangerous act that even I dared not do.  
  
He studied me in silence as I looked up to him with the same daunting spirit and   
stubborn will that my mother displayed to my father from the very first day they met,   
having hoped to scare him off so both of them need not marry the other. The   
combination of his warm skin under mine, and my own ludicrously brazen acts were heady   
as sake to my mind. But I focused at the task at hand as I continued to look   
fearlessly into his eyes. "Your grip is too strong," I told him and my voice sounded   
strange in my ears as he studied me. "Chichiue always said that the katana is a part   
of the man and the man is a part of the katana." I glanced at my hand softly touching   
his, "Flow like the water and move like the wind," I smiled at those words that I had   
read but a week ago, describing the steps of a dancer and not the strokes of a sharp   
edged blade. But the description fit and I glanced to him again with that same smile   
on my lips and at the realization of what this could mean when the look in his eyes   
changed and the amber hue captivated me in one breath taking moment.  
  
I pulled away my hand and suddenly all my training as a daughter of a daimyo came   
to me like a laden stream, bursting into a river after heavy rainfall. "Thank you," he   
told me and I merely nodded, forever training my eyes to the ground with all the   
meekness that my sensei had instilled within me.  
  
I don't know how long we stood there, but the sound of sword on wood, rhythmic   
and flowing, filled my ears for a few moments longer before I glanced up from the   
ground to the sky. There I saw the dark-blue pulling back like uncertain waves as the   
edge of the heavens turned purple. Gold lined the black silhouettes of the western   
trees, just visible over the tips of the wall that enclosed the estate. My breath   
escaped from between my lips as I stood there enchanted by the view, reliving the   
memory of that touch in my mind. I heard only him and the katana he held in his hands,   
bright steel flashing in my mind's eye as it sliced through dark wood and bark. Inside   
I was laughing and crying all at once and my whole being felt light, bursting with a   
joy unspeakable. For a moment, just a moment, I had held a bird in my hand and I had   
tasted freedom on the tips of his wings, a freedom I had never dreamed of possessing   
but had always desired.  
  
I closed my eyes and let the sound of his katana swings fill my head and my   
memories, till I was brimming like a bubbling brook. Slowly I opened them again and   
turned back to my room, knowing in the deepest part of my heart that it was not a   
dream. But I did not look back for fear that he would vanish like fog before my eyes   
just to spite my foolish fantasies.  
  
I left him to the cool, morning air just as dawn broke over the unseen horizon.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
When I was six, my father started my training in the arts of war fitting for the   
daughter of a daimyo, and at the age of ten Haha insisted I start my dancing lessons   
to conceal the knowledge I had gained. She said that dancing would help me gain the   
grace in body to conceal my grace in fighting. These little lessons of combat were   
taught so that I would be able to aid Haha in protecting the estate if ever we were   
attacked while the men were gone. I had complied of course, not only because it was my   
duty as a daughter to do as her father bids, but also because it was the closest I   
would ever get, beyond my books, to the art of the sword. The exercise had kept my   
skinny girl form from growing outrageously fat or even chubby, as many women of my day   
and age were known to become. Still, Haha would lightly tease me now and again about   
how I would end up being somewhat of a pole from all the exertions I was put through,   
but Chichiue would always calmly counter it by saying that I will instead grow to   
become a willow.  
  
Of course, I was not to inherit the skills of my father, but Haha made sure to   
send for some of the best teachers from far and wide to come and teach me the stealth   
required of a woman who may be weaker in body, but not so in mind. I learned many   
things during this period of time in my life, perhaps preparing for that wayward   
adventure in the future that I had always imagined being a part of my life. Mornings   
were spent in our own doujou, which was built on our estate. I learned many things,   
perhaps, even more than what my teachers were willing to teach me. Stealth was my gift   
and I caught on quickly that it was not always how hard you hit, but where as well.   
And with it, I learned all the places to keep objects that were meant to cut, things   
that were meant to kill, hidden, as well. I would watch and listen, remembering the   
places that were more vulnerable than others, places men would leave unprotected when   
they think it would not matter that others would try to strike them there. I had learn   
to watch more and more, studying all those that I know throughout the day, searching   
for openings that in dire situations I would need to know and look out for. Men, no   
matter how humble, were usually arrogant in their skills as samurai and the likes, so   
who was I to let miss the use of such arrogance if the situation calls for it?  
  
I held my first weapon, a tanto, at the age of ten. By that time I had already   
been taught the basics of my body. I had learned how to use it so that I could defend   
myself and how to maximize the strength I do have to defeat those who may be far larger   
and far stronger than I. But such things were not the goal of my training, for in   
fighting closely with a man -- even if he were my size -- would be foolish, for he   
could easily overwhelm me if I wasn't careful. I was taught more extensively instead   
on matters like how to fall, how to best avoid or lessen the impact of a blow, how to   
block and how to use the greater strength of a man to my advantages. I was taught the   
art of knife throwing, and though Chichiue find that slightly to the access, Haha   
insisted. All of these things I absorbed with rapt fascination, and though I may never   
beat any great swordsman through skill and strength, I may beat quite a few through   
surprise and cunning.  
  
The descendents of the Saitou clan were known to be perfectionists and Chichiue   
was no exception. I got the best training that was possible and I was expected to   
excel. Hours were spent, repeating a single move over and over again, dancing either   
to the silent tune of death and pain, or drifting to the music of a samisen. Both were   
used to teach me to be strong and both were drilled into me, step-by-step, and ache-by-  
ache. My mind was not to doodle either, and so hours more were spent, reading,   
writing, digging, weeding, and all the things I did before my physical trainings began.   
It made me more appreciative of those hours in bed, but I had never missed a morning   
watching Hajime practice, even at the cost of blurry-eyed days only half awake, which   
would get me into quite a few scolding for my clumsiness. But from Hajime I had learn   
much more in the ways of fighting than what was expected of me.  
  
Just watching him gracefully decapitate the wooden poles in the yard gave me the   
strength to try harder, to fight better, and dance that dance of freedom as the air   
hummed around me with each swift stroke of the small blade in my hand, or anticipating   
the fluttering, fragility of the wood and paper fan in my hand. And sometimes I would   
laugh at the thought of how Hajime would take to practicing his swordplays in a kimono   
that gave little freedom in movement, but was required of me for this would be what I   
might be forced to fight in. And it were those times that I wondered why the kami had   
chosen to born me to be a girl, trapped so thoroughly in such a body and in such   
confining wears as the ones I was so unwillingly an occupant of. But the trainings   
continued and I had learned to appreciate the subtle, glide in my movements that had   
taken many ripped kimonos to perfect, as well as the blatant deception that I would not   
be able to move as freely in my clothing. Haha lessened that burden by making the   
seamstress change the cut of many of my kimonos, and for that, I was grateful.  
  
The days flew by quickly. Those straining hours dwindled to a close as more   
hours were spent to keep my skills at a well-honed edge than the time needed to learn   
something new. In the afternoon, I would sit, hands dipped in warm waters as to sooth   
the sores I have received from my practices, so that I would not have my hands be   
roughened by hours of training. Salves were applied to clean those open wounds,   
bandaged palms and fingers wrapped before I was allowed to hold a weapon to practice or   
fight. After all, appearances are the greatest deceivers of all, and my greatest   
advantage to gaining surprise. All the while, I grew, watching ever constantly over   
Hajime like a fascinated moth that would dance incessantly around a flame. Sometimes,   
I would wonder closer than usual before leaping back again to what I had considered a   
safe distance, and the dance would continue thusly, in a seemingly never ending cycle   
that was repeated day by day.  
  
And always the question was fraught between us: Who would burn whom?  
  
  
*****  
  
  
The meeting before dawn with Hajime when I had turned but twelve had been the   
real turning point in my life. Early in the morning, I would no longer "spy" on him.   
I had learned, a little over a year before, that he was no more than an adopted son of   
my father's but that never really changed anything between us, not noticeably anyway.   
For still I would openly sit, wrapped in my thicker kimonos, and watch him by the light   
of my candle.  
  
A few lanterns danced in the morning breeze along the walkway, throwing shadows   
all around, and with rapt attention I would memorize his moves as he practiced a single   
stroke with his glittering, fire-bright blade, over and over again. Chichiue had long   
taught Hajime the succession technique, and many days I would miss seeing him on the   
estate since he had began to visit many other doujou near ours to gain even more   
knowledge of his swordplays. Much to my eldest brother's chagrin -- who had yet to gain   
enough strength to even inherit the succession technique -- Hajime had long surpassed   
him when it came to the matters of the katana.  
  
What Ryou lacked in the sword, he made up by reading and cunning. Hajime did not   
have a liking for books, he read whatever Chichiue instructed was necessity and did no   
more. The only thing he ever repeatedly look over were works on weaponry and war, as   
well as memorizing the Bushido -- which consisted of lessons concerning the conducts   
becoming of a samurai following the path created by his katana. Either way, to the   
great dislike of Ryou, Chichiue has come to spend more time with Hajime and the two   
become more like father and son than Ryou could ever hope to be. Jealousy made the   
tension of the house grow with each uncertain day, festering like a beast as it lie in   
wait for some disaster. Such thoughts disturbed me this morning like it had never done   
before in the past, especially not during my favorite time of day. Watching Hajime   
flow with the sword is something that usually takes the entire span of my attention,   
though strangely not today.  
  
"Chibi-onna," he called to me that late September morning, almost two years after   
the first time he acknowledged my ever-watchful presence. He was using that nickname   
to spite me, I was sure. Almost a year ago I had coldly told him that I was no longer   
a little girl and he should address me as that of a woman. So instead of just calling   
me "chibi", as he was known to do, he playfully added "onna" onto it and to my total   
humiliation, used it constantly. "Are you really interested in all this swordplay?"  
  
For a long time I was too stunned to answer. What kind of a question was that?   
Why else would I watch him if it were not for the katana he wielded? That, and the   
fact that I knew he would not betray my presence to my father. "Chibi-onna, are you   
going to answer the question or keep daydreaming?" He asked again, sounding as calm as   
ever to my great annoyance.  
  
"Ookami-nii," I fought every instinct not to hiss out his name as I glared   
daggers at his side profile. I hardly ever call him Ookami-nii anymore, except when I   
become especially aggravated by his irritating comments as I was at the moment. "Why   
else would I give you the time of day?" Hajime paused and I was startled to see him go   
so suddenly still with his face averted from my view that I too paused to rethink over   
my words, puzzled at what had caused this affect. "Hajime-san?" I carefully reverted   
back to what I had come to call him since I had turned thirteen, trying not to let any   
of the worry seep into my voice as I shifted nervously from where I sat.  
  
His shoulders began to shake and suddenly I knew why he had been keeping so   
still. He was trying not to show how much he was laughing at me! Enraged, I stood and   
hastily put on my geta before stomping across the yard to him. "What is so funny?" I   
growled at him, all my years of training to becoming a polite, young lady flew out of   
the window as my temper took over. Apparently, it is a trait passed to me by my   
samurai Ojiisama, who was infamous for his temper. It was especially unfortunate that   
Ojiisama had passed this unfitting passion onto his granddaughter instead of his   
grandson. Ryou was spoiled and cruel but he did not have the terribly short temper   
that I possessed -- a temper no amount of training seemed to be able to surpass, well,   
at least not around Hajime, anyway.  
  
He looked at me with a brow lifted in amusement and all of my anger melted at the   
laughter in his amber eyes. So rarely does such happiness appear that I can hardly   
remember the last time I had seen him so carefree. "Chibi-onna, you amuse me." He   
told me with a slight quirk of his lips.  
  
My glare hardened at his words before I turned my head away with as much   
snobbishness as I could muster, "Well, you disgust me." I told him as I swirled away   
in a flurry of cotton and silk, marching back to the entrance of my room.  
  
"Oh?" I heard him say softly and could almost imagine the smug smile on his   
lips. "Then you would have no desire to watch me practice from now on."  
  
I growled, torn between my desires to see the fall of the blade that flowed in   
graceful arcs, and the need to defend my pride, hence never setting eyes on him again.   
For now the latter was winning. With stubborn determination, I snorted as unladylike   
as I could and tossed him a, "Fine!" over my shoulder.  
  
As if I would ever want to be associated with that fool again! How dare he ask   
me such an impertinent question?  
  
And as I closed the door to my room with a harsh click of authority, I had a   
feeling that this was the beginning of a very horrible week. Little did I know how   
true such premonition would come to be as I slid opened my shoji again, hours later.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
It has never been harder to be the daimyo's daughter than when the daimyo passes   
away. It was hard to stand strong before the grieving people when inside yourself you   
are grieving too. I was not particularly close to my Chichiue, but I had great   
adoration and awe for him in my childhood and as I grew older, I had come to greatly   
respect him as well. In a way, Chichiue was a solitary rock in my world between   
childhood and womanhood. He had allowed me to flourish and grow beyond what many   
people might have deemed proper, never once questioning Haha's methods and sometimes   
giving his own suggestions and encouragements. After all, I was set on not   
disappointing him and he in turn was set on not disappointing his family name.  
  
The Saitou clan was not always daimyo. My samurai Ojiisama was a shogunate   
elite, along with his son -- Chichiue -- but retired at the age of forty-eight after an   
injury that had left him crippled in his sword-arm. The Shogun, wanting to reward his   
loyal follower, requested that Saitou be sent to watch over the countryside of Kyoto   
and live in peace till the end of his days as daimyo. The Shogun always did like the   
foul-tempered but brilliant young man that was Ojiisama, then head of the Saitou clan.   
Both Ojiisama and Chichiue had brought many victories to the Shogun's armies and very   
few defeats whenever they did lead, and to that the Shogun was generous in his offerings.   
Relieved and honored, Ojiisama complied with the Shogun's wishes and took with him his   
young wife and household to the countryside of Kyoto. There, the Shogun had been in   
need of a steady head and loyal eyes to watch the ever active city that bordered on   
rebellion while the Emperor rested there, hidden from the common eye. And there, Saitou   
Hajime -- Ojiisama to whom my Ookami-nii was named after -- settled for the rest of his   
days on the flourishing estate.  
  
It was sunny the day we found father dead in his study. After a hearty breakfast   
that morning when he had been his usual, quiet self at the table. I had been the   
obedient daughter and had poured him his tea and such before morning studies called me   
away, noting how Haha stayed behind with her laughter and chatter not meant for me to   
overhear. Ryou had gone into Kyoto to visit a friend of the family, while I had made   
it my business to ignore Hajime whenever he and I were unfortunate enough to be in the   
same room together.  
  
Chichiue did not come to lunch, which was unusual but not totally out of   
practice, and so the servants left a tray outside the door of his study, which went   
untouched. Haha had gone banging into that room when she walked by it earlier in the   
afternoon, demanding to know why Chichiue was not taking care of his health by fasting   
and avoiding his family. The words though, plain died on her lips when she found my   
father slumped over the table, his calligraphy brush resting on the floor and ink   
scattered in fat drops of black over the surface of wood and tatami mats.  
  
And it was then I heard the screams of a servant that brought me to the same,   
horrible scene that seemed to have frozen mother stiff a few steps into the room. In a   
few moments I felt Hajime's presence beside me as I bowed my head, and the house soon   
buzzed at the great tragedy of such a sudden departure. "Are you alright, Haha?"   
Hajime moved from my side to my mother's still, stiff form.  
  
I raised my eyes then to follow his back and saw the shudder that went through my   
mother's body before she collapsed completely. If Hajime hadn't caught her, she   
certainly would have woken up to a nasty bump on the side of her head since I was in no   
condition to catch her myself. Grief seemed to have weighed my whole body down like   
lead as I looked from Hajime to my mother in his arms, trying not to notice how my   
father was but dead only a few feet away.  
  
"Don't faint on me too, Tokio," he ordered me with none of the teasing nicknames   
of before since he had never called me by my given name. In fact, for a long time, I   
had thought he did not know it or perhaps he had forgotten what it was since it had   
never had the pleasure of frequenting his lips, if at all. It was that same name that   
woke me from my slumbering tears that would not reveal itself into my eyes and onto my   
face. Instead, my vision remained painfully clear as I stood in silence, watching him   
watching me.  
  
"I won't," I assured him as I came from my trance and then glided up next to him.   
Softly, I set my hand onto his shoulder, though I was still comparably shorter to his   
lean form. "I'll carry her on the other side," I told him and he looked at me with   
startled surprise as if he needed to assure himself that my calm answers did not belie   
hidden hysteria. Wedging myself beneath my mother's dead weight we passed by the   
servants as I carried her with Hajime to her room. "Take care of Chichiue's body," I   
told Reika as I passed her by in the halls of the house. She nodded with tearful   
solemnness and hurried on her way just as we had arrived into Mother's room.  
  
"You can go cry in your room, if you want." Hajime's gruff voice broke the   
uncomfortable silence as he stood behind me. I should have been angry, insulted, or   
both had I not suddenly felt myself become so very tired.  
  
"No," I said without turning to face him. Instead I lay a gentle hand onto   
Haha's cheek, "I need to be strong for her."  
  
I never knew the expression in Hajime's eyes that day as I sat beside my mother's   
unconscious form, and for once I was not so curious or so consumed by simply being near   
him. It was years later that he would tell me how that day was the turning point for   
him in seeing the woman I was becoming, as it had been two years before for me, when I   
had advised him on how to better grip the katana and dance the dance of change with   
steel and strength.  
  
The words of Chichiue still echoed in my mind, keeping me as still as snow   
falling onto barren grounds and as strong as the iron of a true, warrior's blade. "A   
samurai's sword gives life and takes life to the wielder and his enemies. The sword of   
Life chooses differently, for Fate is the hand that guides it, and Death but waits on   
the other side of that same, finely honed, katana. But instead of either giving or   
taking life, this same blade brings change instead of certainty."  
  
Today I saw true those words when the blade that held both Life and Death cut   
into my Father's flesh, and brought unimaginable change into my once, seemingly   
constant world. I was silent in my vigil over Haha, not knowing if Hajime stayed or   
left, nor whether the servants came or went. Instead, I waited in that constant   
silence, trying desperately to find some footing in a sea of numbing pain that left me   
senseless. Inside, I was consumed with disbelief while a greater sorrow flowed beneath   
that mask of untouchability, rushing through me like black waters gushing with vigorous   
soundlessness beneath the ice of winter.  
  
"You can go cry in your room, if you want." Hajime's words echoed through me   
every now and then as it tried to crack through that thick barrier that was wrapped   
thickly around my heart. But it was useless, for those words felt like the tapping   
legs of an ant against the bark of an ancient tree. And while I sat, I hesitantly   
tried to make sense what it was that he had meant but the feeling that such   
understanding would flood my senses and consume my sanity, stopped my prodding. After   
all, I could not for the life of me recall how to cry or even the meaning of tears, and   
was it really so bad to not be so weak?  
  
I stared, dry eyed with a back taunt and straight beside my mother's bed while my   
face was held in the perfect warrior's mask. It was a mask that I had been trying to   
perfect from the first day of my training eight years ago, and to no avail, I was never   
able to hide any of my wayward emotions... until today. Inside, I laughed bitterly at   
the price it had cost me to complete the last step in my training as the proud daughter   
of a daimyo.  
  
  
to be continued...  
  
  
* The name Ookami no Kiba means Fang of the Wolf or Wolf's Fang  
* This is my first Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic. Thank you for reading ^-^v  
* Women (or should I say mothers) ran the lives of the young in those days,   
while men fought and dallied in politics and the likes. So think of it   
this way, all the best warriors must have had amazing mothers. *GRIN*  
* Okay, to clear up maybe mild confusion about daito. Daito is a long  
sword, a part of a set of two swords -- the daito and the shoto -- known  
as the daisho. You may know shoto as what many authors call the "wazikashi"  
and you may know daito as what many authors opt to call the "katana". Now,  
when you put these swords together, they make a set, called the daisho.  
Only those who were samurai could legally wear daisho in public during the  
Tokugawa period. It became a symbol of class and prestige.  
* -_-;; I lied, I did do some research and put it into the fic ^_^;;  
* Yes, I am twisting historical truths for the purposes of my own   
entertainment. OHohohohohohohoho!  
* Fighting in a kimono is TOTALLY MADE UP! Please, I can practically hear the  
protests about how impossible that task is, and how all kimonos are alike,  
etc., etc. Just pretend for this baka author, ne? *puppy-dog eyes* PLEASE! 


	3. Unsettled Household

* Tokio and Hajime are products of history and Himura Kenshin is the product of   
Nobuhiro Watsuki -- though I am choosing to use Watsuki-san's Saitou Hajime/Fujita   
Gorou -- I'm just adding my own twisted mind into the messed up mix. Hmm, I think this   
is the perfect time for an "Oro?" Ohohohohohoho! ^_^v Well, enjoy!  
  
* "I am the steel beneath the bloom," turning to him arrogantly, I faced him without  
hesitation or fear. "Did you forget that...?"  
Saitou Tokio was born into a world of prestige. Daughter of a wealthy daimyo,   
and the descendant of an honorable family. In a time of shifting allegiances and   
oncoming civil war, Tokio, living on the out-skirts of Kyoto will be embroiled in a   
family conflict that will reflect the unrest of her beloved country. And with it, a   
remarkable journey of a woman fighting to redeem lost justice, rightful vengeance, and   
crumbling loyalties, searching for the truth whose cost might destroy everything that   
she had ever known and loved, will begin. With it she will face the very tests that   
will forge her into the woman that will one day tame the Wolf of Mibu.  
  
  
* Haha - One's own mother  
* Chichiue - One's own father (formal/polite way of Chichi)  
* Ojiisama - Grandfather (extremely formal)  
* Ookami - Wolf  
* Samurai - elite class of warriors who lives by a law that does not apply to common  
folks nor does common folk laws apply to those of the Samurai class (i.e. Samurai can  
kill without discretion or explaination.)  
* Daimyo - equivalent to lords, they own land and are served by loyal samurai. They   
are also responsible for the peasants in the region/area that they "rule" over for the   
shogun  
* Katana - a great sword (same as a daito), mounted edge up  
* Chibi - little  
* Onna - woman  
* Geta - Sandals that were worn by women  
* Shoji - A sliding door, composed of rice paper and set in a wooden frame.  
* Ara - Oh well  
* Nani - What?  
* Hai - Yes (Usually used by females)  
* Aa - Yes (More masculine, used usually by males only)  
* Ki - Similar to chi, life force, or in Rurouni Kenshin, it is either   
fighting aura or sword aura.  
* naki-onna - woman hired specifically to cry/chant at funerals  
* shika - fake flower(s) buried around the grave of the dead  
* sode-kaburi - a white head-gear that woman oft times wore at funerals  
(for further notes on Japanese funerals, go to the end of the fic)  
  
  
Ookami no Kiba  
  
.blue.  
.blueweber@hotmail.com.  
  
  
Unsettled Household  
  
Moving through life,  
Driven by stubborn determination,  
I arrive at the reflection of another's face  
Holding onto some unnamed emotion,  
Looking back at me.  
  
-- Takagi Tokio  
( Her Personal Journals )  
  
It rained on the day of my father's funeral. We buried him next to Ojiisama   
while the rain fell onto my white umbrella. Somberly we watched as the Earth ate up   
the mortal house of Chichiue's spirit. Etsuyo bowed his head with heavy regrets,   
having outlived another master in his honorable old age. He stood bent and   
seemingly older than ever, like an ancient tree that had weathered too many storms   
of grief. Wrinkles dragged down the lids of his eyes, and he looked like he was   
squinting out of those weary, life-worn lines to see the world that was no longer as   
clear as it had been in earlier years. Etsuyo stood next to my tall and proud elder   
brother, face grim with consternation and thought. To any other observer, my eldest   
brother would seem to be in control and brooding, but I could tell that the ordeal   
had tired him out and that Chichiue's death had saddened him greatly. There were   
many things left unsaid between Chichiue and Ryou, now they never will be shared   
again. Backed by Chichiue's grave samurai, Ryou stood out like the lord he would   
soon be with the ancestral tablet in his hands as rain water ran in rivlets down his   
face like the tears he would never shed. While I, on the other hand, kept a firm   
hold on Haha's elbow to steady her once shaking form, though still a part of me   
hoped to dissolve into the muddied puddles beneath my feet. But I must be strong   
for Haha, and for now, it was enough for human contact to stop her from trembling   
uncontrollably beneath our shared umbrella.  
  
White, the color of grief and death, shielded us from the heavenly tears. And   
I stood there thinking of how the tiny paper roof over our heads must stand out in   
the gloom, acting like a beacon of clarity against the black earth as it called to   
the memories of happier days that was lost in a sea of inevitability, never to   
return to port again. Days of laughter, days of silence, and even days of tears   
washed over me like the tides of forgotten time, all of them cherished in an instant   
realization that Chichiue was gone forever. He would not rise out of his murky,   
shadowed grave to embrace me -- though he had embraced me very little and not since   
my youth -- nor would he be there to laugh with Haha, or to listen with dignified   
silence to the words of his samurai men. There would be no more visits to Edo that   
he made once a year, no more dark eyes watching me dance beneath the spring Sakura   
trees that would bloom in our courtyard come Spring while I practiced, and no more   
reasons to wait for his return home from the places outside the walls of the estate   
because to where he has gone, no one has ever returned.  
  
Over the branch of the ancient tree, a black crow huddled under yellow eaves   
that once seemed like molten gold beneath, the now, hidden sun. Its hollow voice   
echoed in my ears and into the silence of my loneliness. As much as I would like to   
echo the cries of naki-onna -- hand-picked and hired by Ryou -- I could not, no   
matter how much it may seem strange to those around me. Somehow, I ended up   
standing by myself next to the dark earth of the new grave, watching the grave-  
digger -- a cousin from Chichiue's side of the family -- in the traditional field-  
clothing covering up the black hole, watching the petals of the shika dampen and   
darken from the rain overhead. With one hand stained and muddied from the dirt I   
had thrown down onto Chichiue's grave, I found myself unable to move away even as   
the others had left for the feast inside the house. My eyes followed the flight of   
the crow in the grey skies from beneath my pristinely white umbrella, beneath the   
soft edge of the white sode-kaburi that covered my hair in soft billowing clothes.   
I found myself imagining Chichiue's spirit riding on those very wings, farther and   
farther away from where I stood on these earthly grounds. My eyes watched its black   
form disappear into a black dot in the grey skies after everyone else's departure,   
not once noticing Etsuyo gently pulling Haha away from my slackened grasp with   
comforting gestures as he patted her back while she wept. In those last moments of   
goodbye, Haha had been unable to stop her tears even as she struggled to stand   
straight and proud as the dignified wife of the late daimyo and though it was   
expected that both of us cry, neither of us had been willing. Ironic how she now   
wept tears over a man she had not wanted to marry the first time they met each   
other, but maybe now she had a real reason to regret the match.  
  
The gentle murmurs of the naki-onna falls in ryhthm with the water drops   
hitting the earth. I reached out a hand, and with rapt fascination, catching a few   
fat, dew-like drops in the palm of my outstretched hand, drops that were wetting the   
edge of the sleeve of my kimono and washing away the mud that still clung there upon   
my opened palm. "Tokio, how long are you going to stand there?" Hajime's impatient   
voice came from behind me, but if he was aiming to provoke my anger and annoyance,   
he failed again for the second time in a row. That was not a good sign, and I think   
he came to that same conclusion when I didn't respond. "Tokio?" he questioned me   
softly. And somehow, a part of me now wished with all of my childish heart for the   
bright light of youthful days, when Hajime would teasingly call me "Chibi-onna"   
instead of using a name so strangely foreign on his tongue that it did not sound   
like it belonged to me.  
  
"Do you think the sky is crying for me?" I asked all of a sudden, breaking   
the silence of my own creation.  
  
Hajime leaned in to stand under my umbrella since he was so much taller than   
me as I had decided not to accommodate to his discomforts by raising my arm higher.   
Silently he studied me, as if choosing his words to see what they could do to bring   
me out of my isolated shell. "Don't be stupid," he finally scolded me with more   
gentleness than I was used to coming from him when he seemed to have arrived at some   
conclusion. "You are not so important for it to rain only to appease your grief,"   
he spoke clearly so I could hear each word lit like flames within my heart, burning   
into place.  
  
"Ara," I smiled though it was more from reflexes than anything else. At least   
I remembered how to smile. I thought with bitter amusement, "you're probably   
right."  
  
I don't think I have ever given in so easily to Hajime's barbs, I don't think   
anyone had reacted like that to his sharp and honest wit, though severe as it   
sometimes was. I would like to believe that I am one of the few people to ever   
truly catch him by surprise but I would be lying if I did not admit that I had an   
unfair advantage that day. At the time, I was not out to impress Hajime in anyway   
but I might have done more than I had ever hoped to do in all my years as I   
carelessly walked away from him again.  
  
"Saitou," he said. His voice gave me more pause than his words.  
  
"Nani?" I asked surprised as I turned and looked back at him.  
  
"Your father gave me his name when I received his succession technique. I   
don't think there is more appropriate a day to take up his offer than today." He   
was certainly not asking for my permission, that much I was sure of, but instead   
stating a fact that he deemed that I should know. He seemed to be preparing   
himself, ready to face whatever it was I would throw at him. I don't think, not   
even to this day, that he had ever have been prepared for the hurtful answer I had   
given him so carelessly in the blindness of my own pain and sufferings.  
  
"It would seem to me that we are indeed siblings only by name from this day   
on, Saitou Hajime-kun." My words made his features harden but I did not know why,   
if I did, I had no wish to analyze such findings then. At the time I did not want   
to do much more than to gain some steady footing on the stones of my life, trying   
not to drown in the sea of my grief. For just beneath those slippery, stepping-  
stones of normalcy lay something that waited to consume me, and all that I had   
become. Hajime's words left me no steady footing nor gave me any assurances, so I   
had paid him little to no mind to what my words could do to him.  
  
"It would seem that way, wouldn't it, little sister?" he asked me through   
gritted teeth. "Ryou's waiting for you at the feast," he said at last after another   
long pause under the gloomy weather.  
  
I nodded and left him in the warm, sad rain with the phantom tears I could not   
shed on my Chichiue's grave. As I walked to meet with the new head of the Saitou   
family, I found my heart unusually lighter than before. He had said that the rain   
would not cry for me, and his honesty lifted me from my grief for but a moment, and   
I clung to the memory of his voice in my mind like a fool sputtering on the soggy   
sands, clinging to land when the horrible waves of tragedy abated for a moment into   
the distance. "Hajime-kun," I looked behind me one last time to see his back to me,   
tensing at my calling. Whatever words I meant to say died on the tip of my tongue   
when I realized how much I must have hurt him before. I looked down to the ground   
next to me, averting my eyes in guilt.  
  
"Don't stand too long in the rain," I finally finished softly, "you might get   
sick." If he heard me, he did not respond, and I would not have known anyway   
because already I had turned away to go, too shame-faced to look back behind me at   
what I had done.  
  
Just for a moment in time we had stood side-by-side, and though I had hurt him   
later with those cruel words of mine, there had been a moment when my hand was wet   
with rain and he had looked at me with those haunting, amber eyes. And that moment   
was eternity to me.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
I gripped my calligraphy brush so hard as I stared at the blank page that I   
was surprised it had not yet snapped! I was ready to snap, and my whole body shook   
with unvoiced anger. The little sleep I had taken the night before made me more   
susceptible to these warring emotions from within than I dared to acknowledge. I   
have not had a serious talk with Ryou since the feasting after Chichiue's funeral.   
In fact I had been putting it off up till now, not really wanting to face anyone   
after the burial. It was only this morning that I went to him after a night filled   
with tossing and turning as a million questions and regrets ran through me as it had   
since Chichiue's death. But all of those thoughts were pushed aside to give room to   
my anger.  
  
How dare he?  
  
Like the perfect sister, I had been obedient and quiet throughout the whole   
ordeal. But now that I was on my own I shook with unspeakable rage as my fingers   
dropped the calligraphy brush, watching it land with a thud and roll along my desk   
before coming to a stop. My fingers gripped the edge of my table but I knew it   
would be unwise to show any emotion beyond consent, bowing my head to the new   
authority instead of giving in to this deep feeling of betrayal.  
  
When Chichiue... when he has but just been buried and Ryou... how dare he ask   
me to...  
  
I rose to my feet, unable to sit still as I walked to my door. Taking my   
white umbrella, I carefully donned on my geta at the steps leading to the gate of my   
home. Without a thought of a guard or even a servant in attendance, I slipped out   
of the door and out of the walls that enclosed around me for the fourteen years of   
my life. Setting my feet one step out of the wooden gates and then another, my   
heart shuddered with anticipation and fear. I looked down the muddy road, filled   
with leaves of dying life, too old and heavy to withstand the winds of change and   
come to a decision that I had not realized I was trying to make at the gateway   
between past securities and the uncertain future.  
  
I will not be a leaf, I thought to myself as I closed the door behind me with   
gentle determination. I will not bow to that wind and die from this heavy grief   
that burden my heart. Nor will I allow this sorrow to weigh me down to the ground   
and be crushed by the feet and the wheels of passing travelers, carts and carriages   
driven by others. No, I will be like the tree trunk that stands against the   
harshness of winter and blossoms again in spring. I will live and survive and look   
down this road without fear or hesitation as I journey onwards, unhampered by this   
anticipation of future pains that has yet to come. I could and would handle them,   
to that I have little doubt.  
  
Walking under the bared branches, I head in the direction of the rising sun.   
Grey clouds still lingered overhead but I knew that the burning god of light will   
eventually break out of that gloom and warm the earth again as he has done countless   
times already, never failing and ever present.  
  
I had never been out on my own before, and the freedom was exhilarating.   
Smelling the damp air, feeling the mud beneath my sandals, I pause as the trees fall   
back to reveal plains upon rolling plains of farmland.  
  
My breath caught in my throat and I thought of Haha in the gardens, telling me   
her childhood tales. I remember the light in her eyes as she described my uncles   
and aunts, and the honest work that was bitter and hard and yet, endearing. And I   
wondered if my maternal Ojiisama's farm in Edo was as magnificent as this.  
  
Even the grey skies could not make the site less beautiful to me and I stood,   
imagining what it would be like if it were earlier in the fall when the fields were   
to stretch out in rows of gold and summer when it was of a luscious green. Or even   
spring when the wild flowers first peeped their heads up from the emptiness of   
winter, to fill that void with the joyous colors of celebration.  
  
I don't know how long I stood there, awed by the sight. But for a moment,   
just a moment, I was no longer a part of the life of Saitou Tokio, sister of the   
daimyo, or Saitou Tokio, a daughter who had just lost her father, or even Saitou   
Tokio, granddaughter of the shogunate's elite samurai who one day became too   
crippled to do what he loved best. Instead, I was simply a girl, holding a white   
umbrella of mourning, and having forgotten all about why she was sad in the first   
place as she simply stood, enjoying the painting of turmoil, anger, death and the   
soft promise of renewal that nature presented before her, a picture of herself in   
the fields and the sky and the muddy terrains.  
  
This was my haven in between the blinks of an eye, lost too easily but never   
forgotten.  
  
I closed those simple eyes in peace for the first time in days, feeling my   
body sway in the gentle wind with exhaustion. I lifted my arm and rested the palm   
of my hand on rough bark, soggy from the rain. A tear slipped from my closed lids   
and clung to my lashes before burning its way down my cool cheeks. Another soon   
followed and then another, and as the sky slowly cleared away to reveal the setting   
sun, I remembered again what it meant to cry.  
  
I remembered the meaning of tears and my sorrow washed over me like a brimming   
teacup accidentally knocked over, spilling my emotions onto the muddy grounds at my   
feet and onto the dark material of my obi. It dripped out the sorrow of my heart,   
content by content, and cleansed me like the rain could never have done.  
  
In that moment I smiled a real smile through my tears, no longer so afraid or   
so lost as I had been since the day of my father's death.  
  
Hajime had been right, the heavens would not cry for me and even if it did, it   
would not have eased any of my sufferings. Only I could do that, only I can bear   
the weight of my grief instead of waiting for another to take my place because of my   
fears of facing that same, horrible, and almost unbearable, pain. But I can bear   
it, and with that knowledge I raised my face to sky and once again remembered how   
two years ago I had held a bird in my hand and how he had let me touch his wings   
before I had fearfully moved away.  
  
I let my hand fall from the tree that had once steadied me, knowing I no   
longer needed the support and turned to walk back to the estate. Swiftly did I walk   
this time, for there was someone I needed to apologize to and for once, the defeat   
of my pride hurt me not at all, but instead, set me free into the winds of change.  
  
I knew that there would still be nights that I cry at the image of Chichiue's   
face, or be stilled by a memory of a time lost forever in his presence. But today   
was the day I take my first step to moving on, and the first time I would face my   
emotions with the strength and tears of a woman, and not that of a child.  
  
The setting sun warmed my retreating back, beginning the slow process of   
evaporating the tear puddles collected from the infinite sky.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
My presence was not missed when I stepped back onto the grounds of the estate,   
and much to my relief, the door was not locked during my absence either. One of the   
samurai looked up surprised to see me walking back onto the estate from the gates,   
and I bowed apologetically. "You were out, Tokio-sama?" The samurai asked and   
bowed in return from where he knelt on the steps leading to the walkway.  
  
I sighed as I straightened, "Hai," I smiled with all the apologetic remorse I   
was supposed to be feeling. "I hope I did not worry anyone," I half-asked him   
meekly, though it wasn't entirely a lie. "I needed to be alone to think," I looked   
away and knew he saw the tear streaks on my cheeks. It was enough for him not to   
inquire further of my actions and for that, I was thankful. Sometimes men were too   
predictable, but I was relieved a little at this, relieved that he was nothing like   
Hajime. The other would have seen right through my act and then forced the truth   
out of me, if he did not know what had trespassed already. "Please don't tell Ryou-  
sama," driven only by the power of my will was I able to say my brother's name so   
calmly without any sarcasm to be laced within it. "It would worry him terribly and   
after Chichiue's passing..." I trailed off, eyes cast to the ground as if in shame   
at having caused so much unnecessary trouble.  
  
"Aa," the samurai answered gravely. "Tokio-sama, please do not venture out   
alone again," the other admonished me kindly. "Nobody wishes to see you hurt and   
especially, not at a time like this."  
  
I bowed again in thanks before walking passed him, "I am grateful for your   
understanding." With that I glided towards my room, every movement made with   
calculated precision. It was too close, I knew, and I would rather enjoy the little   
freedom I did have without Ryou breathing down my neck about it. That and I had no   
wish to explain myself to my older brother. I have my weaknesses, but I did not   
like to share them with others, especially not with Ryou who might one day use it   
against me.  
  
It was only coincidence that I passed Chichiue's old study on my way back to   
my room. I don't know why I had drifted to that part of the house that day, but I   
did and perhaps caught something that I wasn't meant to hear.  
  
"--you are a fool, Ryou, if you believe that this will solve any of your   
problems." Hajime's voice drifted through the shoji. He sounded more annoyed than   
usual, but it has only been a week since Chichiue's passing and his grave was still   
quite fresh. It was probably the only reason why Hajime had allowed any emotion to   
seep into his voice these days.  
  
I blinked, confused at what those two seemed to be arguing about now. They   
never really argued before, but it was probably only because, at the time, Chichiue   
was alive. "What would you know, you lower classed whelp?" I could practically see   
Ryou snarling on the other side. Well, that wasn't very civilized, I thought with   
distaste. Perhaps, I wasn't the best judge since Ryou was definitely not my   
favorite family member, nor have any of his present behaviors earned him any more of   
my affections.  
  
A silence came and then Hajime's voice struck me to the core like a spear to   
my heart. "You think you can get away with this little "accident" don't you,   
brother?" I froze. The smug voice told me that Hajime has composed himself, if not   
his anger for the moment. But it was not that that had stilled me but my puzzlement   
at his words, words that made me think of horrible, traitorous thoughts--  
  
"I am not your brother!" Ryou answered with equal civility but the underlying   
bite was still there. "I will never be related to a street ruffian like you who was   
born with blood on his hands!" More mysteries, more to add to my growing curiosity,   
and leaving me hanging and uncertain of where these little clues would lead me.  
  
"Not anymore dirtier than yours," Hajime answered calmly. "At least I do not   
dally so blatantly and stupidly as you do."  
  
Whatever were those two talking about? I glared at the door, wishing they   
would not shift around the truth but refer to it directly. Whatever they were   
discussing, I knew it was not meant for my ears and knowing Hajime, he probably   
already sensed... oh dear.  
  
"Do not compare yourself to me! You and I are of different breeds and it is   
about time the world saw you for what you really are... at best a servant. What   
applies to you cannot be compared to what applies to me." My eyes widened, what is   
Ryou up to? It can't be of any good! How dare he even refer to Hajime as if he   
were nothing? Chichiue made Hajime our brother, and if not by blood then by word,   
and Chichiue's word was law whether or not he still lived. It would dishonor our   
father's memories to defy his wishes so, especially at such a time!  
  
"Oh, then you shall be known as the apostate son that you are?" Hajime   
drawled out lazily.  
  
I blinked.  
  
"Get out!" Ryou roared in outrage, "As of today you are no longer a part of   
the Saitou family. If you wish to stay, your status would be nothing more than that   
of a menial servant's."  
  
"Well then, I guess I shall go." Hajime answered calmly, as if he was but   
talking about the weather. I covered my mouth in disbelief at what was occurring   
before me, helpless to stop where it was headed. "Whatever would Haha say to this,   
Ryou-sama? She would be so very disappoint in you as would Chichiue in his grave."  
  
"Out!"  
  
I moved as silently as I could, blinded by tears. Stumbling a little as I   
turned the corner just as I heard the shoji slid open behind me. Hajime is leaving,   
those words repeated over and over again in my mind. Another important man in my   
life would soon be gone as well. And then, where would I be? Where would Ryou put   
me? Who would be able to protect me now? I stumbled again as I pushed myself from   
the wooden beam that supported me, and strong hands reached out to steady me when my   
feeble legs failed to do so.  
  
Gasping in surprise, I turned with dread to meet amber eyes that looked down   
to me with arrogant disdain. "What are you doing here, Tokio?"  
  
Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, all in disarray as it run amuck in my head. Not   
one made any sense and at the time I could not have voiced any and have sounded sane   
in the process.  
  
I shook in his hold as I faced him, hating how he was a witness to one of my   
weakest moments as I gripped his forearms and hated myself even more for the act.   
"Don't go!" Two simple words escaped me before I knew what I was about. I looked   
away ashamed. Here, now, a daimyo's daughter, begging. It did not suit me I   
thought with bitterness and Hajime said just as much with his sardonic voice. Yet,   
it was welcomed this time, for I needed the cutting remarks to part away my raging   
emotions as I fought to get a hold of myself. So close had I been to controlling   
all of my sorrows when I had first set foot into the courtyard of my home that now,   
as my control once again begins to slip away, I am suddenly at a loss about what to   
do.  
  
"Not even going to deny that you were eavesdropping, are you, Tokio?" I   
blinked at his amused question. It brought me back to my senses as I turned my eyes   
to him. Inside, I clung to that indigent anger and embarrassment, holding to the   
last threads of my dignity.  
  
"How did you know I was here?" I asked with annoyance, "I was certain that I   
had not breathed so loudly this time."  
  
The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, indulging both of us in the   
little normalcy's in life that had so easily slipped away. But for now, reality was   
held in check. "You never breathed very loudly at all," he answered, "but you could   
never hide your ki from me either."  
  
For a long time I paused, unsure how to answer. Looking up at him I could not   
begin to fathom a day without him in it. I woke to him in the darkness of mornings   
and slept with him on my mind in the shadows of nights. Always Hajime had been   
there for me as Haha and Chichiue had, and my admiration for all that he stood for   
outlasted even the waking hours at times. And yet, so simply had Hajime shattered   
the one remaining fact in my life, turning everything I knew into the very change I   
dreaded when he had declared his leave. "Chibi-onna," I questioned him with the   
little strength remaining, and with words that came tumbling out of me as clumsily   
as my earlier flight, "why did you stop calling me that?"  
  
Hajime brushed away a strand of hair that has fallen out in my graceless   
attempt to get away from the door of my brother's study. "You aren't little   
anymore, Tokio." He answered gruffly and then stepped away to a more respectable   
distance.  
  
I blinked at the action and his words.  
  
No, I am no longer little. I am no longer the daughter of a daimyo but the   
sister of a new lord over my father's land and his father's land, and I am the   
descendent of a respectable family. I straightened in realization that I am   
stronger than the crying servant girls that begged brothers and husbands to stay. I   
am stronger than that because I was born to nobility, trained in the arts of   
deception, war and politics, and I shall not dishonor that knowledge and those   
skills by becoming weak.  
  
So I did not ask him if we would meet again, nor did I beg him to give up his   
dignity for me, for I knew Hajime would never even consider it even if I did ask it   
of him. Instead I bowed low, humbled by that same realization, acknowledging that   
for a moment I was weak, and thanking him for reminding me of my duties and of my   
status. "You were never my brother," I told him as I straightened, "you were   
always, and will always be, more than that." And without waiting for a response to   
my odd farewell, I walked away.  
  
It would become the longest walk in my life, and as I neared my own room, I   
silently promised myself that this would be the last day of my youth and the last   
time I would ever reveal a weakness to anyone ever again, not even Saitou Hajime.   
For if not a daimyo's daughter, I am the granddaughter of an elite samurai of the   
shogunate court, and from this day forth, I will be guided by the heritage of   
warriors from times past...  
  
And never again shall I be weak!  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Haha watched my brother pace about before us, back taunt with hidden   
agitation. Hajime had been gone for no more than a night and already Ryou had sent   
the household guards out to search for him. Apparently, though Hajime didn't take   
much, he had taken Chichiue's katana -- the family's sword passed down through   
generations. It was amusing for it was a blatant statement on Hajime's part,   
declaring that obviously, he did not find Ryou worthy enough to carry such a blade.   
And Ryou was furious when he had discovered that the sword was gone.  
  
Now, Hajime pride had reduced him to the status of a common criminal.  
  
I knew from this day forth I could never again mention his name under this   
very roof, at least not for a long time to come. I worriedly looked over to Haha's   
face, composed and still as she watched her only son by blood pace back and forth   
like a caged beast. "Ryou, if he is to be found you will find him." Her voice   
sounded huskier than usual, rusted from the lack of usage in the last few days. But   
then again, Haha have had very little to say since Chichiue's death.  
  
"That bastard--"  
  
"Watch your tongue, Ryou. You are a daimyo now, so conduct yourself   
properly." Haha's voice rang with authority within the family's den.  
  
Ryou stopped and glared down at the floor as sullen as any little boy that was   
scolded by his mother. "Forgive me for my rudeness, Haha."  
  
I saw that Hajime's words about what Mother would think of Ryou's actions had   
indeed hit home. Ryou was far from a kind and honorable man, but he loved Haha,   
more so than he ever cared to show to Chichiue. It was probably because Haha   
treated all members of the household equally, never looking down to Ryou for not   
having been born with the talent of a swordsman. He was almost docile in Haha's   
presence, surprisingly considerate at times, as well. It saddened me that he was   
not always like this, "You are the daimyo now," Haha continued. "And it is time you   
take a wife."  
  
I blinked and Ryou looked up sharply in surprise. "Haha?" I heard his voice   
faint and suddenly a appalling suspicion fell upon me just as the triumph of having   
him experience what he had put me through, left. There was someone, someone Ryou   
was obviously never going to be able to marry.  
  
"At least I do not dally so blatantly and stupidly as you do." Hajime's words   
echoed in my mind.  
  
I had been so distraught about Hajime's absence that I had not looked over the   
clues in that conversation. Intrigued I closed my eyes, trying to recall what had   
been said. Something about an accident, spoken so sarcastically that it must have   
meant something else. And then the same traitorous thoughts flood over me again,   
those words long lost. Something about hands that Hajime claimed to have been   
dirtied -- perhaps bathed in blood. And what were the words he had used? What had   
Hajime accusingly called Ryou? An "apostate son" I mouthed as my eyes snapped open   
to see Ryou sharply turn and pace before me, stopping as if he felt my intense,   
accusing gaze as his shifted onto my still, kneeling form.  
  
By then my head was bowed, my body forced into the relaxed pose as if I were   
but half-awake as every fiber of my being was flooded with a million possibilities,   
each one more terrible than the next. I had never dreamed that such a day would   
come, the day that this household would be dismantled so thoroughly that I could   
feel it physically manifesting itself onto the wooden beams and rice-paper screens.  
  
Piece by piece, what once was crumbled in my questioning hands, and piece by   
piece, I vowed, I shall put it back together again, and discover the truth. Still   
that ominous knowledge lingered within my being as I heeded the reality that was   
invading my peaceful world, one that might tear everything that I have ever come to   
known, asunder, leaving me with nothing but change and terrible lies.  
  
With the heat of the filtered sunlight on my back, I shuddered inwardly with   
the anticipation of a coming doom, ever mindful of the watchful eyes that suddenly   
seemed to surround and focus on my being with each passing breath.  
  
  
  
to be continued...  
  
  
* Hmm, I don't think I explained this earlier but here are what the suffix means:  
-san - A way of addressing someone you are not entirely familiar with, as well as to  
show polite respect.  
-kun - (Mara, you're right. It should be -kun ^_^v) Addressed to men/boys who one is  
familiar with.  
-sama - This is extremely formal, equivelent to "great one" or lord/lady Tokio use it   
because her grandfather's high status in society and because she never met him,   
so to show reverence for the dead and her respect for her grandfather, she's   
using -sama. She does the same with Ryou when he becomes the daimyo -- though   
sarcastically on her part.  
* Understand, women during the time period that Tokio was in was expected to not  
question the decisions made by men. Hence why Tokio says that she acting like an  
obedient daughter/sister to the head of the house (once her Father and now her   
brother), agreeing to their decisions even when she does not approve of what they   
demand of her in any way at all.  
* Oro... Sorry if whatever I wrote in my footnotes insulted you Mara-san ^_^;; I don't  
mind your criticisms at all and I agree with you on many of your suggestions which, by  
the way, is very helpful. I have already gotten advice on not using too many japanese  
words from writing fanfics for Sailor Moon, but I just felt that it is appropriate in  
this case. As for why Chichiue and not Hahaue? The reason is simple. Chichiue is the  
head of the family and as Tokio admits, she is not very close to her father. She  
respects him but she doesn't really know him. Her mother is the one that raised her,  
and so Tokio, along with her brother Ryou and our beloved Hajime, all call their mother  
Haha without the -ue suffix because they are much more familiar with her. I hope   
that's not too confusing... sometimes I think in circles and what makes sense to me   
makes very little sense to the rest of the world ^_^;; I blame it on my insanity ^_^;;   
But thank you for your patience and for reading this fanfic nonetheless. Sessha is   
thankful ^_-  
* When Tokio said that it may seem strange to outsiders that she is not crying, it  
is because women are expected to cry at funerals, to not do so is sometimes   
considered a bad omen.  
* I did some research on Japanese funerals and that scene in the OAVs finally made  
sense, you know the one with Katsura-sama in it... a handsome, determined, and   
feiry Katura-sama... ^_- And I've decided to take a few specific things out to  
mention about funerals in this chapter. Yes, ADDITIONAL japanese words... because   
it just sounds weird if I call the naki-onna "criers" or "hired crying woman" ^_^;;   
And the fake flowers are real too. I researched! I didn't realize how MUCH I had   
left out, and the process of a funeral in Japan, in the old days, were long ones. I   
thought since Saitou-sama IS a daimyo, he might go down with somewhat of a bigger   
show than if it had been just anyone! Hence, descriptive details. I didn't   
describe the WHOLE thing in this fic, goodness, I do want to pick and choose I what   
I inculde. But Tokio will have flash backs to her father's funeral for some   
chapters to come. I think they are specifically so long so one wouldn't forget   
^_^;;  
* Family members are ones that are expected to fill the graves of the dead, as they  
are also expected to throw dirt on the casket. Funerals, like weddings, is a very  
large family affair/gathering, though it "may" include non-family memembers.   
* The new head of the house hold is supposed to have the family tablet with him and   
add the deceased name onto it, if I remember correctly. Shika are buried around the   
grave, I believe four of them, one in each corner. White is the color of grief, and   
there is always a feast after the funeral, so I couldn't think of how to do without   
it. One is also supposed to cleanse oneself after the funeral, with water or a   
sprinkle of salt, mentioned in next chapter. Parts of the long funeral rights would   
both be mentioned and explained in later chapters.  
* Yes, crows are symbols of Death in Japan. Not surprising, these birds tend to be  
the symbol of death in many countries and folk lore alike. Poor birds. 


End file.
